


One Fine Day

by retrospectav



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Gen, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrospectav/pseuds/retrospectav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time has passed.<br/>Sherlock has decided to return to 221B Baker Street, but will John want to know him? And will John be the same as before?</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Fine Day

_**BANG!**_  
The slam of the front door. Slow, unmethodical shuffling of feet up the eleven-step staircase. _“John!”_ thought Sherlock. He hadn’t been expecting John home for at least another hour, which would explain his own current, slightly dishevelled, state of attire – one pair of white underpants and his best blue dressing gown! Not that there was anything wrong with Sherlock. He wasn’t a pervert - which a lot of people would think this could mean nowadays. No. He had been working on another one of his experiments and well, things got out of hand. This entailed a corrosive, fizzing accident ejecting straight onto the front of his suit.

 _“Never mind,”_ thought Sherlock. Nothing could spoil his mood, particularly when John was going to find out the small, insignificant fact that Sherlock was alive! But this was right here right now, John was in the building, climbing more like trudging up the stairs (as he didn’t expect anyone to be there, Sherlock noticed he had lost his military-parade walk John had been trained to carry as second nature). It was as though his heart was leading his feet (and well, to be perfectly honest they weren’t doing a very good job), but what was Sherlock going to do? Admittedly he was comparatively close to nakedness and more than a little unprepared. _“Where should I make myself visible from?”_ Sherlock couldn’t just meet him at the top of the stairs - that would not end well, mainly for John. Sherlock knew the chances of someone of his age and weight in surviving falling down a flight of stairs of that distance, _“but it would be alright”_ thought Sherlock. He would never let that happen to his one and only friend.

Sherlock’s mind was unmistakably foggy, he felt ‘ _strange_.’ John would say “ _stranger than usual_ ,” but he wasn’t sure about this John now. _“No, I haven’t been on anything narcotic, thank you very much,”_ he thought to himself. Sherlock was able to think clearly regarding John, but nothing else felt that it qualified as mattering. _“Excellent, even my vernacular is going, something definitely was amiss,”_ thought Sherlock, but again back to the present day. _“Where, where, where? In the kitchen? No, there were enough surprises in there already. The bedroom? Ah, no. Well it’d just have to be my leather cushioned chair. Oh, how he’d missed that chair! Sherlock – FOCUS!”_ he thought, internally failing in grappling with his basic system functions. All the while, Sherlock hadn’t realised that John had reached the top of the staircase and was staring, staring at Sherlock! John’s mouth was wide; his face expressionless, more akin to an innocent child coming to the realisation that Santa Claus didn’t exist. When Sherlock realised the feeling of watchful eyes on his back, he turned around, ever so slowly, to meet this _child_. Sherlock knew this child had served in Afghanistan, from the moment they first met, but he was certain that John wouldn’t be able to fathom the highest, uttermost level of torment - yes, greater than war - than what Sherlock had felt, since the day of the Fall. As his eyes met John’s (he had to lower his glance to suit a man of his friend’s stature), completely out of character, John proceeded to drop the two grocery bags he was carrying and much to Sherlock’s dismay stood en pointe, teetering on the topmost step leading into their flat. John blinked hard, twice and swallowed with effort.

Sherlock yet again noting the potential hazard of this smaller man’s stance rushed over and drew John across the threshold of the doorway (almost in a way, as if completing a full circumference of the event of their meeting). John stammered in words and his posture sagged, causing Sherlock to lead him to the nearest comfortable seat, their couch. _“Wha-? How-? Oh God, you’re-,”_ John managed eloquently as ever (but much more understandable in the given situation). He was breathless in his speech and slightly incoherent. _“John…John, I’m sorry,”_ calmed Sherlock, feeling compelled to trace every corner of this man’s face for a fibre of forgiveness. He carriaged John’s shoulders lightly and it was as if Sherlock could feel the tension in John’s muscles releasing (probably because a large insurmountable pressure had been applied to them ever since that day). Sherlock started, _“John, listen to me, John. I know it’s a lot to take in, but you’re going to be alright now-,” “NO, IT’S NOT! IT’S NOT OKAY!”_ John managed at last. This phrase of John’s transported Sherlock back to a pleasanter time involving what he called a ‘Study in John’ at Baskerville. _“Yes, but John, it will be!”_ rebuffed Sherlock. This brought an angelic smile to the lips of _‘The Great’_ Sherlock Holmes, with a much thought of meditation coming to the front of Sherlock’s ethered mind, _“John…John…I tell you, since the first moment I have waited.”_


End file.
